


Dying of the Light

by Reioka



Series: Girl Next Door [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reioka/pseuds/Reioka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was nine and his mom was dying. He spent a lot of time at the hospital with her, even when his dad couldn’t be there, reading to her, and holding her hand. He’d spend hours telling her about all the things they would do once she got better, because he read somewhere that optimism and hope sometimes helped people through terrible illness.</p><p>She was dying anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying of the Light

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to do the "later, so-and-so realizes/learns/finds out," but it just didn't seem to fit this particular story, and also they started getting a little tedious so. *shrug* \o/

Dying of the Light

 

Stiles was nine and his mom was dying. He spent a lot of time at the hospital with her, even when his dad couldn’t be there, reading to her, and holding her hand. He’d spend hours telling her about all the things they would do once she got better, because he read somewhere that optimism and hope sometimes helped people through terrible illness.

 

She was dying anyway.

 

He did his homework at her side, ate crappy hospital food with her, and sometimes fell asleep beside her if no one was there to take him home. It didn’t happen often; usually his dad or Melissa were there to scoot him into the car to go home, but sometimes they were both working and he couldn’t stay home alone. On those nights, Addie would come to get him, but instead of taking him back home, she’d sit with him beside his mother’s bed, and they’d talk all night. It was hard to pay attention in school the next day, but he didn’t mind, because Addie and his mom would let him talk and talk and talk and didn’t tell him to quiet down or to let his mom rest—just let him share his thoughts like he couldn’t share them with Scott or his dad. It was their little secret.

 

Sometimes he couldn’t stay with his mom, though. Sometimes he just needed to get out, wander around, get the jitters out so he wouldn’t make his mom tired by proximity. She’d always teased him that just looking at him made her tired, but now that the cancer was winning, it wasn’t a joke anymore; it was true.

 

So it shouldn’t have shocked him when he heard two nurses talking about how he was just making his mom sicker.

 

“He’s in there all the time. I’d be tired like she is, too, if that kid was always under my feet!”

 

“Does that kid ever stop talking? Anytime I pass Stilinski’s room, he’s just chattering away! I have no idea how she puts up with it!”

 

Stiles felt his heart sink down to his toes. Of course he made his mother more tired. He _knew_ that. He just wanted to be close to her while she was down, but… Of _course_ he was probably making her sicker. He never gave her time to rest, always talking, never letting her get the chance to even _ask_ him to be quiet because he never shut up.

 

He asked his mom if it was okay for him to go home that night. She said yes.

 

 _‘Probably to get a break from you,’_ he told himself, climbing into the back seat of the Andersons’ old sedan.

 

.-.-.-.

 

Claudia knew something was wrong with her baby boy when he only grunted that school had been fine after she’d asked him about it. Usually he came in, grinning, and telling her immediately about the wonderful things Lydia Martin had done or the trouble he and Scott got into. He didn’t even mention how well he did on his history test, even though they were getting it back that day.

 

“…How did you do on your test?” she asked, smiling encouragingly.

 

Stiles shrugged. “Good,” he mumbled, looking down at his shoes.

 

Addie frowned and shrugged helplessly when she looked at her, brows drawn together. She glanced between them before leaning toward Stiles and saying, “A boy in my math class says that Spiderman is way better than Batman.”

 

Stiles shrugged again. “Everyone has the right to their opinions.”

 

“Not that one,” the teen snapped, scowling. “Spiderman is in no way superior to Batman.”

 

“That’s _your_ opinion,” the boy said, finally looking up at her.

 

Claudia pushed the button that eased her mattress into a sitting position. Once up, she folded her hands delicately on her lap and pursed her lips. “Grzegorz.”

 

Stiles flinched and glanced up at her, frowning. “Yeah?”

 

“What is wrong?” Claudia asked, voice stronger than it had been in quite some time. “You always talk to me when you get back from school; it’s the highlight of my day. So why aren’t you talking to me now? Did you get in trouble at school?”

 

The boy looked back down at his shoes, brows furrowed together stubbornly. “I didn’t get in trouble at school.”

 

“Then what is wrong?” she asked, clearly not giving him the option to _not_ answer.

 

“…I just don’t want you to get tired. I know I talk too much and you can’t rest,” he explained, bringing his hand up to gnaw on his nails. “I just didn’t want to be underfoot.”

 

Claudia blinked at him slowly, then leaned forward, reaching out to grab his hand and pull it away from his mouth. “Grzegorz, who used the word ‘underfoot?’ That is not a word we use in our house, and I’m certain the Andersons have never used that word to describe you, either.”

 

Stiles tried to look away, but it seemed like everywhere he looked, Addie or his mom were there, and he couldn’t get away. He hunched his shoulders, ashamed, because he’d upset his mom and that was what he’d been trying _not_ to do. “The nurses said I was always talking and it was no wonder you were so tired all the time.”

 

Claudia breathed in sharply, made a distressed noise in the back of her throat, then turned and started prodding the call-nurse button repeatedly. “I have enough energy for one good outburst.”

 

Addie stood and hovered nearby, frowning. “Should I get Melissa, or…?”

 

“No, I just told you I have enough energy for only one outburst. I need you here to do the rest of the outbursts,” the woman told her sternly.

 

The teen blinked. “How many outbursts do we need?”

 

“All of them. All of the outbursts, Madeline,” Claudia said seriously as two nurses and a doctor rushed into the room in response to her rapid calling. She turned to face them as they stumbled to a confused stop, took a deep breath, and then roared, “WHO THE HELL DO YOU PEOPLE THINK YOU ARE, SAYING MY SON IS UNDERFOOT?!”

 

.-.-.-.

 

Apparently ‘one good outburst’ was much louder and longer than Stiles and Addie ever could have thought, because his mother’s tirade lasted for several minutes before Melissa ran in and told her to _calm the fuck down and also Stiles don’t tell Scott I said ‘fuck’ this is a special occasion._ Addie looked as shell-shocked as Stiles felt, her hand gripping one of his tightly.

 

“…I almost peed myself,” Addie whispered to him, and Stiles would have laughed, except his mom was kind of terrifying and he was pretty sure that she’d been an avenging angel of some sort in another life.

 

Claudia sagged back against the pillows, sighed, and smiled brightly at the doctor that was still standing in the doorway, looking terrified. “I’d best not hear anything else disparaging about my son, especially from some stupid nurse who doesn’t know _anything_ about us.”

 

“O-of course,” he said, and quickly backed out of the room.

 

Melissa stroked Claudia’s damp bangs out of her eyes and smiled. “You probably put the fear of God into everyone in this hospital, but I’ll keep my eyes and ears peeled too.”

 

“I realized halfway through that Addie would never outburst at anyone unless she knew exactly who it was and had gathered enough information to make soul-scathing comments about them. I didn’t want her to go through all that work,” Claudia mumbled, lips quirked into an exhausted grin.

 

Addie leaned forward, brows furrowed together in concern. “I wouldn’t mind going through all that work, Mrs. Stilinski.”

 

“I don’t think any of our nurses could handle soul-scathing at this point, hon’,” Melissa told her, giggling a little. “Maybe sometime next month, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Addie smiled at them, a little unsurely, then stood again. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and get a snack. Can I get you a Twix from the vending machine, Mrs. Stilinski? Is it okay?” she added, looking up at Melissa quickly. “I don’t want to give her something that would make her sick.”

 

Melissa didn’t point out that everything kind of made Claudia sick at that point. “I’m sure some chocolate and caramel could do her some good right now.”

 

“Okay. Stiles, do you want to come pick something out, too?” the teen asked, turning to look at him. “Or we could go to the cafeteria and get you some chocolate milk.”

 

Stiles looked up at his mom. She looked like she could use a few minutes to compose herself. “Do you think the cafeteria has curly fries?”

 

“Kid, I need to get you some poutine,” Addie told him, taking his hand and leading him out of the room. “I think you’ll try a bite and actually discover Nirvana.”

 

“Grandpa Jim has Nirvana records, I’ve already discovered them,” Stiles told her, making Melissa and Claudia burst out laughing.

 

.-.-.-.

 

The last thing Stiles and Addie expected as they had a snack of chocolate milk and curly fries (not as good as the diner’s, but passable, Stiles had sighed) in the cafeteria was a tray gently sat down and a lady with long dark hair and bright eyes sitting down next to them. They blinked at her in confusion, and she smiled back.

 

“Long time, no see,” she said, her voice a little rough.

 

Addie frowned. “Laura, I thought—You and your brother, you went to New York?”

 

“Peter’s still here,” Laura said, shrugging like she didn’t care, even though her face pinched with stress and pain for a moment. “And I needed to settle some paperwork about custody and life insurance, so…”

 

Addie nodded a little. “Oh. I see. Did your brother stay in New York, then?”

 

“No, he’s… around.” Laura waved her hand and frowned, looking sad. “He was supposed to be home when it happened, you know. I feel like sometimes he wishes he _had_ been. He can’t even stay in a room with Peter for ten minutes.”

 

“Survivor guilt,” Stiles mused, because he’d seen a lot of people at the station and the hospital after an accident where they were guilty they lived.

 

Addie whipped toward him and frowned, placing her hand on his. “Stiles, maybe not now—”

 

“No, wait.” Laura leaned toward him, smiling at him. “You’ve seen a lot of survivor guilt in your little life?”

 

Stiles waved his hand around the cafeteria, as if to encompass ‘I’m practically living here and when I’m not here I’m at school or at the police station with my dad.’ “I’ve seen enough.”

 

The woman grinned in amusement. “Yeah?”

 

Addie looked down at the fries and nodded once, sharply, as if to tell her to back off. “ _Yes._ ”

 

Laura glanced between them in confusion, then blinked in surprise. “Oh. I see.” She looked at their tray of fries and raised an eyebrow when she saw the two cartons of chocolate milk next to it. “My, my. That looks like the healthiest snack I’ve ever seen.”

 

“You’re just jealous because you’re eating a salad,” Stiles told her primly, and shoved several fries into his mouth.

 

Addie looked at the other tray in surprise, then lifted her gaze to her face. “Why _are_ you eating a salad?”

 

Laura flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Maybe I want to lose weight.”

 

Addie and Stiles were both unimpressed, but it was Stiles who finally pointed out, “You are a lying liar who lies.”

 

Laura barked out a surprised laugh and covered her mouth when the few others in the cafeteria turned to look at her, blushing a little. “No, we just had a lot of greasy fast food on our way back here, and I wanted something a little lighter and fresher to eat. I didn’t even want dressing,” she explained, digging into her salad and grinning at them around a large leaf of romaine.

 

“Laura, that’s gross! Don’t smile with your mouth full!” Addie exclaimed, grimacing.

 

Laura maliciously chewed with her mouth open, because apparently she was still nine years old instead of twenty. Stiles was _actually_ nine so he responded by chomping on his curly fries and then sticking his tongue out to show off the masticated potatoes even more. At a stand-off, they considered what they could do with his chocolate milk and her glass of water.

 

Addie covered her face and sighed.

 

.-.-.-.

 

When Claudia Stilinski said she had enough energy left for one good outburst, it was true. She began to decline rapidly.

 

Stiles only let go of her hand when he had to leave the room, and no one came to take him home anymore. Melissa had pulled in a cot for them, but Ivan usually slept on that, Stiles preferring to cuddle up with his mom as delicately as he knew how. She always felt a little cold, and he liked to think he was warming her up a little.

 

Scott and Addie had tried to sit with them once, but Stiles had made it clear that he wanted her to himself for a while, so Claudia sent them away as gently as she could.

 

Addie snuck in while Stiles and Ivan were sleeping, grabbed her hand, whispered ‘I love you’ and ‘please don’t go.’ When Claudia had only sniffed and tried to swallow the lump in her throat back down, the teen had instead whispered, ‘I’ll miss you,’ and ‘I’ll always love you,’ and, most importantly, ‘I’ll look out for the boys while you’re gone, Claudia.’ Addie leaned against the bed and hugged her for the longest time, then sobbed and ran out of the room.

 

Scott came in when Melissa forced the Stilinski men down to get some food. He sat down in the seat Stiles always used, looked up at her very seriously, and said, “I’m going to take care of Stiles and my mom, so don’t worry about them.” Claudia cupped his cheek, smiled, kissed his forehead. She asked Melissa to hug him extra for her when she was gone. Melissa cried, and so did she.

 

The Andersons showed up, didn’t kick the boys out but Mrs. Anderson gave them a look so sharp that they didn’t complain about having to share Claudia. She was secretly relieved, because she loved her boys more than anything, but they’d been her only visitors for ages. Mrs. Anderson sat with her for fifteen minutes, clutching one of her hands, before quietly stating, ‘I’ve outlived a lot of my friends, Claudia, but I never wanted to outlive you.’ She patted her hand, took a deep breath, and stood. Jim patted her foot, glanced at Ivan and Stiles, then nodded. Mrs. Anderson took hold of his wheelchair and pushed him out. Claudia mused that so few words had ever made her feel so much, and if someone had told her that she’d become friends with the mean librarian of her childhood, she would have laughed so hard she burst.

 

Claudia had one other visitor that she didn’t tell anyone about. A man with dark hair, black feathers braided into it. Every time she saw his face, it looked a little different—young, old, smooth skin, wrinkles, dark eyes, bright eyes—but his right hand was always the same: old, bleached bones disappearing at the wrist under sallow skin, holding up a large silver pocket watch and pointing at the longer hand. The shorter hand of the watch was always sat firmly at the twelve. Each night he visited, the second hand was closer to meeting it. So she wasn’t surprised when he showed up one night, pointed at the longer hand on the pocket watch as it tick-tick-ticked and the minute hand slid closer.

 

She looked around the room, suddenly stricken. “Please, my husband—can’t it wait a few minutes? He’s supposed to be on his way from work—” Her breath hitched as Stiles continued doing his homework beside her, ignorant of the specter in the room. “Not in front of my son—please—”

 

The man pointed at the watch wordlessly. The long hand ticked closer.

 

Claudia turned and grabbed Stiles’s hand, eyes watering, wanting to tell him to take a bathroom break or go get a snack or call his dad or _something._ But instead, she said, “I love you, Grzegorz. You know that, right?”

 

_Tick-tock._

 

Stiles blinked at her in confusion. “Yeah, mom, ‘course. I love you too.”

 

“I—I just want you to know, I wished so hard to fight this. I wanted to get better, see you grow up. I hate that I can’t do that. I want to stay with you, do you understand that?”

 

_Tick-tock._

 

“Mom, what are you talking about?” Stiles frowned, shoulders hunching a little. “Mommy?”

 

“I love you so much,” Claudia whispered, cupping his cheeks and giving him a kiss on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, anywhere she could reach. “And I love your dad so much, too. I wish I could stay. I never wanted to leave either of you. We would have been—we _should_ have been—”

 

**_Tock._ **

 

Stiles heard the long, drawn-out beep before he realized that his mother had gone limp, the fingers around his face going lax. Doctors and nurses burst into the room, one of them kind enough to ease him out even as they yelled at each other, stats, needs, whatever it was they yelled at each other when a patient’s heart stopped.

 

Numb, he wandered over to the row of hard plastic chairs against the wall.

 

_I wanted to get better._

 

He slid into one of the uncomfortable seats.

 

_I hate that I can’t do that._

 

He stared up at the harsh lights in the ceiling as he listened to the shouts of the doctors over the sound of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears.

 

_I wish I could stay. I never wanted to leave either of you._

 

Stiles bent forward, leaning his head in his hands as the sounds from his mom’s room ceased, like they had in Old Man Barlow’s room when he passed away. His mom was gone and she was never coming back.

 

He thought about crying, but he had plenty of time to do that later, he decided.

 

_And I love your dad so much, too._

 

After all, his dad hadn’t made it in time. They could cry together later.

**Author's Note:**

> Allow me to hand you some tissues.  
> Death is very abstract in this story and I have no idea why I added it but it seemed to fit?


End file.
